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User Rating: |
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7.5
/10
(33
votes)
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Mirrors are not more silent
nor the creeping dawn more secretive;
in the moonlight, you are that panther
we catch sight of from afar.
By the inexplicable workings of a divine law,
we look for you in vain;
More remote, even, than the Ganges or the setting sun,
yours is the solitude, yours the secret.
Your haunch allows the lingering
caress of my hand. You have accepted,
since that long forgotten past,
the love of the distrustful hand.
You belong to another time. You are lord
of a place bounded like a dream.
Jorge Luis Borges
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Read poems about / on: solitude, dream, cat, sun, time, mirror
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Comments about this poem (To a Cat
by
Jorge Luis Borges
) |
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comments about this poem (To a Cat by
Jorge Luis Borges
)
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archie langford
(10/15/2009 3:17:00 AM) |
smokey came to my kitchen door deciding she would own me I tried to resist
but I became her slave that`s a cat
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Edgar Eslit
(10/14/2009 9:21:00 PM) |
Cat got many lives and so is this poem. It wanders all along with the deaf echo of the wind. Let's not wake the slumber of its verse before the cat shades its fur.
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Kevin Straw
(10/14/2009 5:40:00 AM) |
A wonderfully suggestive poem describing the indescribable: somewhere we have long departed from, but which haunts us sometimes with an almost physical sense of its presence.
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Nancy Chambers
(10/14/2008 11:39:00 AM) |
What a great description about a cat. 'You have accepted,
since that long forgotten past,
the love of the distrustful hand.' I have one of these creatures
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Mary Naylor
(10/14/2007 4:59:00 PM) |
You weave a mood! You've caught the spirit of a beautiful animal! Very original imagery and thought.
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Jerry Beavers
(5/4/2006 7:31:00 PM) |
I am envious of anyone who can come up with such a way to say how quiet a cat is ('Mirrors are not more silent') . And how better to contrast the coldness of the cat's unrevealing eyes ('nor the creeping dawn more secretive') with the emotions that pour from a dog's every look? Even the nighttime prowlings of my cat is done as if our basement were 'a place bounded like a dream.'
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Jorge Luis Borges
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